#316 Space- Kevin Brockmeier
Something amazing happens when the lights go out in a big
city—you can suddenly see the stars. It takes a sudden a dramatic event
sometimes to see what’s right there just outside your vision. However, as
poetic as that may be, you still have to lose something important.
A man has lost his wife, and is left alone with his fifteen
year old son. Their light has gone out and they suddenly have to look around to
see what’s there. As he laments her passing, he prays to her and worries that
her memory will fade like the lights around them:
“I’m afraid…that as I climb from the well of this time into
days of habit and quiet persistence, into weekends and birthdays and sudden new
seasons, the things that I know of you will slip quietly away from me. I am
afraid that as the glass of my life falls away, I will forget you, and what I
believed of you, and what I loved of you.”
Notable Passage: “My memory of you…will be like the last,
quiet pulse of an echo: were I to follow it, I could not say what towards.”
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